


The Scars of War

by blackredpanda



Category: Rockman X | Mega Man X
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Introspection, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 17:31:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18596068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackredpanda/pseuds/blackredpanda
Summary: Most Reploids don't have scars. Not like that.And Zero definitely does not.





	The Scars of War

"Like what you see?" Axl turned his head to grin at Zero, who was circling around him where he stood.

Zero shot yet another glare at him. "Eyes front."

"All right, all right," Axl huffed, returning to position. Zero continued his circuit, capturing every detail of Axl's appearance for his arrest record.

Humanoid frame, on the small side at 155 cm tall. Black armour with red and gold accents and two blue gems, one on his chest and one on his forehead. White fins sweeping back from his aural cones like cat ears. Retractable fins on his back and thrusters on his lower legs which he'd used for hovering. Thick reddish-brown hair, styled into spikes. Fair facial skin. Green eyes.

An unusual build, but nothing which set off alarm bells – so far.

But whenever Axl spoke, or smiled too broadly, he revealed fangs – smaller than Zero's own, but still sharp. One might have dismissed these as an idle fancy of his creator, but Zero knew better, and he'd seen how rapidly and accurately Axl fired his twin pistols. These were a shorthand warning that Axl was made for combat.

Then there were the scars on his face. Tattoos and markings were not uncommon among Reploid delinquents nowadays. Some would even brand themselves or carve their signs into their skin or armour, if they were compensating for something. In all his years, however, Zero had only seen a handful of Reploids retain scars from real injuries. He could recall Crescent Grizzly, long since retired, and Red, the reckless vigilante who seemed to have finally gone Maverick himself. And now... the discoloured cuts between Axl's eyes looked like they had been deep enough to hurt.

How had that happened?

"You want to know how I got these scars?" Axl cut in, guessing Zero's thoughts from his fixed stare.

Zero remained silent. Clearly, Axl had kept them so people would ask.

"Well... so do I," he continued unprompted. "The guys said I was busted up real bad when Red took me in. Anteator did a good job patching me up, but... he said these wouldn't heal right, no matter what he did. Said it was like... my auto-repair wanted them there."

Right. Zero had neither the time nor the capacity to unpack _that_ , so –

The brief cloud passed from Axl's face as he grinned again. "Maybe I had the right idea. Now people know I've been in my share of fights."

Had he, now?

Did he actually think people needed to see all the places where Zero had been stitched back together to know he'd torn himself in half to save X, in the First Maverick War? Or to know how many Reploids whom he'd called his comrades had died at his hands in the Fourth? Or that Sigma had nearly destroyed the world using a virus made from his data, all for a deranged plot to test his strength against X –

"But I'm sure you and X can beat my story, right?"

"That's none of your business," Zero growled.

"Come on, after all you've done, you must have something to show for – "

Then Axl choked, pawing helplessly at the hands crushing his voice box and threatening to rip it out of his throat.

"You know _nothing_ about what we've done."

Zero's next order, spoken through bared teeth, was cold, crystal-clear, as the heat of his breath burned in both their faces.

"So keep your mouth shut. Do you hear me?"

Axl nodded. He couldn't even whimper, much less speak. Zero let him go – or threw him, he wasn't sure – and he stumbled, his face twisted in confusion and pain. At first he reached for his throat; then he lowered his hands and hung his head, now acutely conscious of the shock cuffs binding his wrists.

Zero sighed and pressed his fingers to his forehead. The sooner he finished processing Axl, the sooner the Hunters could figure out what to do with him and Red Alert. He gestured to the corridor leading out of the room. "Walk."

Axl obeyed straight away without a single sound of protest, but the two had only gone a few paces before he tried to talk again.

"I..." He caught Zero's gaze and flinched, bracing.

Zero winced to himself at the sight. Perhaps he should let Axl have this one.

"What is it?"

"...I don't know how, but now I _have_ to make things right, don't I?" Axl's voice was ragged and fuzzy with noise, but if it hurt him to speak, he hid it well, with a sad smile tugging at his lips. "I mean, when I look at my face... I'll always see that I owe Red – that I _owed_ Red my life." For one moment, ice-cold steel gleamed in his eyes and rang in his words. Then it vanished, and he was small and harmless once more as he came to a halt, trying – and failing – to stop the growing cracks in his voice that were not from static. "It's not – it's not wrong to hold on to that, is it? To what he – what we used to be..."

Zero took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He'd never asked to keep any reminders of his battles. When he'd... returned after Eurasia, though, he'd realised just how many tiny internal flaws and chips he'd accumulated anyway – because they were all gone. His body had never felt more alive, more ready to dodge and parry and pounce and kill. He hadn't been repaired; he'd been remade.

But he wasn't as good as new.

Because when he was new, and he'd learned to make friends... he'd believed he could protect them.

"...No," he sighed. "It's not wrong."

He squeezed Axl's shoulder in what he intended to be a gentle manner, as he pushed the young Reploid onward.

**Author's Note:**

> Reads and kudos always appreciated. All comments welcome, including but not limited to single words, emotes, short comments, essays, questions, or constructive criticism.


End file.
